Chapter Text
Pete Best is ill, Paul McCartney explained to Ringo, a hopeful look in his eye. It’s February 5, 1962, Ringo’s at home, a little flat he was paying for with the last of his money from Rory Storm and the Hurricane’s. He’d quit in January, and while his resolve was strong, the fact that he could only afford to spend a pound a week on anything other then rent gave you an idea of his financial situation. Desperation was beginning to set in, he needed money, he’d hate to burden his mum with moving back in with her. He’d been thinking about his financial struggles when two knocks had pounded on his door, and like a godsend - there they were, three of them, one had to be younger than nineteen. He’d seen them around of course, he wasn’t sure what they were going by now, whether it be The Quarrymen, The Silver Beetles or Japage, but hadn’t ever interacted much with them.
Of course, he knew almost immediately what they needed, a drummer. He knew they had one now, Pete Best, but perhaps he’d quit like so many of their previous members. Besides, what else would somebody come to his flat for (apart from rent) if not seeking his drumming skills. It was the only thing he’d ever been good at, while opportunities were sparse now, they had been booming when he was with the Hurricanes, constantly he’d been given offers. He hadn't thought they’d stop when he quit the formerly mentioned group. Honestly, it wasn’t anything personal, he just wanted something new, less routine. He’d been with Rory for almost five years and he knew, they were going nowhere. While they loved to brag they were the ‘best group in Liverpool’, that really wasn’t saying all that much. Ringo knew that nobody, even their lead singer and star of the band didn’t believe this could be a career, he was the only one who’d quit his job (well apprenticeship) for his instrument. He’d been thought a fool for it but he’d managed.
Since he’s offered a share of the money they’ll make (and while it’s nothing like what he made with Rory, it’s decent enough), Ringo agrees to do two shows with them. One would be at the Cavern Club and another at the Kingsway Club. He gets to know the three lads a bit, he’s the oldest of them, at 22 but John isn’t much younger. George is, as he expected, the youngest at 18. John’s reputation precedes him and he’s a bit aggressive though Ringo is more than used to that, growing up in Dingle and all. Paul is pleasant enough, but he spends most of his time with John and doesn’t go to much of the trouble in getting know Ringo. George tends to flock around John as well but he gets on well with Ringo, their senses of humor mesh well (George’s dry and witty and Ringo’s naturally a clown). He already knows how to play most of their numbers and for the ones he doesn’t, he wings it and does pretty well. Even John, who apparently is hard to impress, seemed fazed.
At the end of the second showing, all three help him carry his bags out to his car (sold to him by Johnny Hutch, something John had picked up on during the drive to the Kingsway club, they’d had an interesting chat). It’d been nice and he’d gotten everything backed up much faster than usual, he agreed to drive the three back to their places and dropped them all off. Paul, whose home he drove by last, complimented his playing before exiting the vehicle.
Driving home with a bit more money in his pocket and and warm feeling in his chest, he felt happy enough.
As was inevitable, Ringo saw the three temporary bandmates in passing frequently, Liverpool was the sort of place where you did. He’d seen John out on a date with a bird, George trailing them for some reason (the girl looked a bit annoyed at that). He’d actually had a conversation with Paul when Rory Storm (he’d gotten back with them in February) and ‘The Beatles’ as they were now calling it, played a show at the same club. Their acts were one after another and towards closing so they had a while to talk. It was mostly joking but there was some sharing that went on. Ringo found out a bit more about the history of the Beatles, especially John and Paul’s friendship. He also found out Paul’s mother had died a few years back and gave his condolences. Paul’d been pulled away by George after about half an hour of chatting. He’d seen George on the bus a few times and the younger boy had actually helped out with his drum cases a few times. Other than that, he didn’t have much interaction with the boys until August.
A man who introduced himself as the boy’s manager, Brian Epstein approached him in Hamburg while he and Rory were sharing a hotel room. The fact that the lads had a manager was already a step up from what Rory had, and having listened to the trio recently, they’d gotten considerably better - perhaps even as good if not better than The Hurricanes. Rory was good about it, he’d known Ringo had been uncomfortable with the group with almost half a year now. He let him go without much of a fight and the two remained friends. His first gig with his new band was on the eighteenth in Birkenhead. It went horribly. Pete Best fans (the former drummer who’d been fired) went completely nuts. The entire pub seemed to chat “Pete forever, Ringo never!”, it got violent between sets and everybody was uneasy. Things even started to get thrown from the audience. It wasn’t pretty. He wasn’t proud to say that his rhythm faltered a few times when something came flying at him. When a bottle of beer smashed into the wall behind him, he had a particularly hard time. Luckily none of the shards hit him but he was deeply on edge. Leaving the club, the other three lads formed an almost protective circle around him and he couldn’t help but feel a bit humiliated.
After Paul and John had gone off somewhere, some drunk got mad enough to start taking swings at Ringo. It was hard to resist retaliating, the drunk’s aim was off anyways so the punches were easy to dodge. George seeing the situation, got involved though. Scowling, he marched right over and told the drunk where he could stick his shit. That time, the drunk got a solid punch in, the next day the lead guitarist had a black eye.
It wasn’t a great period. Especially since unpleasant memories got brought up with all the hostility. Mostly bullies at school, a few times it was about his dad (the little he remembered wasn’t great, he still had scars on his back from his father’s belt), sometimes even teddy boy fights were thrown into the mix (those were still going on though). It all went bonkers on the twenty-ninth though. They were at the cavern again, they weren’t to go up for about an hour and Ringo was going to use the loo. He walked in on a couple doing it though and changed his mind. The guy noticed him though and his eyes narrowed, the drummer could tell the man was drunk. He removed himself from his girl and started talking,”You’re the fucker who replaced Best aren’t you?”
Ringo took a few steps back but mostly stood his ground,”Let’s just take it easy-”
One blow to his head and the twenty-three year old was down for the count,”Fuck.” he said to himself, rubbing his skull.
Picking him up by his shirt, the drunk man held him against the wall, his eyes dangerous,”Well, are you?”
Feeling disorientated and dizzy, both from the blow to the head and pounding into the wall, Ringo didn’t process what the man was saying. Another utterance and slamming got the drunk’s question across.
“Yes, fuck yes!” Ringo said, licking his teeth as he felt crimson on them.
“Don’t talk to me like that.” the other man roared, hitting him hard across the face. Ringo saw stars.
Finally, the drummer seemed to collect himself, he began to struggle in the other man’s grasp. He managed to struggle away but one blow to his ribs and he was down, wheezing. He tried to crawl away as the man began to kick him but the drunk’s girl got into it and pushed him back at the guy.
Ringo lost track of time but out of the blue one loud,”What the fuck do you think your doing?” broke him from his pain-induced trance. John was in the doorway looking beyond pissed, beginning to feel like himself again, Ringo spit some of the blood that’d pooled in his mouth onto the floor and got onto his knees as the drunk was distracted.
Without another word, John took a swung at the guy and the man fell into the sinks behind him, hitting his head and moaning as he landed on his ass. The vocalist took another few threatening steps but Ringo stopped him,”John don’t go mad on him, you don’t want to end up in jail tonight do you?”
Ringo was a bit worried as John seemed to genuinely consider the two options. He was relieved when the younger man restrained himself. Now turning his attention to the drummer, John winced at his appearance.
“Hope that isn’t as bad as it looks.”
Ringo laughed, raising a hand to wipe away some of the blood around his mouth. He couldn’t help but wince a tad at how his lungs twanged when a chuckle emerged from them but played it off. Attempting to stand though, was another story. He thought he could do it but a flare up sent him back on the floor, his laughs ceasing abruptly and he began to cough violently. That only put him into more pain and he hacked up more blood. John looked uncomfortable. The guitarist had gotten down onto his knees and was next to Ringo but he seemed unsure of what to do and looked like he wished he was anywhere but here. The hacking got worse and John looked alarmed as more blood spurted from the drummer’s lips but seeing fury begin to rise again in his friend’s eyes, Ringo attempted to cease it. Eventually it did die down.
“Well fuck that.” the drummer said in a weak attempt at humor.
John didn’t laugh.
The older man leaned his head against the wall, jostling his hair enough that a gray streak in his otherwise brown hair showed. He took a few moments to collect himself and control his breathing but within thirty seconds was smiling at John,”Help me up will you?”
John got to his feet but hesitated before offering his hand,”You sure that’s the best idea?”
“I’ve had worse.” the other man said, waving it off.
John helped the twenty-three year old to his feet and while Ringo had a hard time keeping a wince off his face, he suceeded in not letting out a hiss of pain.
“I’m going to get cleaned up and then we can go back to the club. How long till we go on?”
John looked even more uncomfortable,”You can handle the performance?”
“We got a booking and I’m not missing out on a few quid.” the drummer said in response. The drunk having left the room, he moved over to the sinks and began to splash water on his face, he sighed at his appearance in the mirror.
“We go on in ten.” the guitarist said, pausing before saying,”You need a bodyguard or something Ritchie.”
“I’m fine.” the bloodied man insisted again,”I can handle it.”
“You handled that great.” John said scathingly.
Satisfied with his appearance, Ringo turned,”Look Lennon, when I say I can handle it. I. Can. Handle. It. It’s like that with this sort of thing, it’s like that with drumming, it’s like that with anything and everything else.”
The shorter man didn’t saying it cruelly or particularly loudly, but calmly and without much emotion, at the end of his point he made eye contact with his friend to make sure he understood the point. John stared back at Ritchie, unyeilding and hiding his concern and discomfort behind a wall of stone. The drummer had gotten his point across though.
The performance was still filled with the throwing of things and heckles but it was less than normal, after the performance, George joked “they’re starting to like you.”